


Best Intentions

by Issiekay, nevereatdirt



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-29
Updated: 2014-04-03
Packaged: 2018-01-17 09:55:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1383208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Issiekay/pseuds/Issiekay, https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevereatdirt/pseuds/nevereatdirt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Kankri Vantas and you are a second year Theology Major at Cresting Heights College.  This year, however, your main project has lead you down a road that you're not sure you're entirely prepared for.</p><p>ON HOLD DUE TO TECHNICAL DIFFICULTIES, WILL BE BACK EVENTUALLY</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, Kankri is a piece of shit MRA (Men's Rights Activist). I will admit that. He is a complete and utter piece of shit and I do _not_ approve of or agree with his world view. In fact it should be noted that I actually kind of hate him. However, there will be growth so you should still give this a chance! The story is wonderful and I would hate to see no one read it just because he's such a shit bird. ~NED
> 
> \---
> 
> Any and all blame for what he is can be placed on me, man, it's entirely my fault in the first place. 
> 
> We'll be adding characters as they come up, as well as warnings. There won't be drug use for a while but believe me, that warning is up from the start for a reason; if you are triggered by recreation drug use/abuse, this might not be the best story for you. The same goes for triggering arguments related to bodily autonomy and sexuality, at the very least. 
> 
> When I said that there might be triggering things regarding sexuality, I really do mean it. It's mostly relating to denial, but if you want a full rundown before reading, feel free to contact me on Skype (same as my pseud) or on tumblr (listed in my profile). 
> 
> With that being said, let's start this wild ride! ~Issiekay/Sunny  
> 

Your name is Kankri Vantas and you have an opinion.  

In fact, you don't just have a single opinion, you have a _multitude_ of them, but for now there is really only one that matters.  And it's that playing with toys meant for little girls with two other grown men is by far the most ridiculous thing that you could be doing with your time.  And yet, here you are.  Literally three grown men sitting around with tiny, plastic ponies while you listen to songs written for a show geared toward children. When you first heard of their interest in the show, you swore upon every book that is sacred and holy that you would never join in.

And yet here you are, manipulating a tiny plastic pony into prancing across the coffee table and silently hating everything that your life has become. You lift her off of the table and swoop her around demurely, making sure to portray her flight in the most ladylike fashion possible.  Strangely enough, it isn’t terribly difficult to play with these two. They tend to be at least somewhat entertaining despite having the same sorts of habits as little girls.  Which really is a shame in your eyes; they could be proper _men_.  But no.

Here the three of you fucking are.  Playing.  With.  Ponies.  All in all though, these two are most definitely better than your roommate from last year and, honestly, your second year of college has proven to be much more enjoyable than the first.  Your first year you'd been forced into a dorm with that _terrible_ hippie that had made it his goal to piss you off on every possible level.  But this year, you managed to get a room with your best friend on campus.  Sure, he's kind of... Awkward.  Yes, horribly awkward and obsessed with these goddamn ponies, but he's not insufferable and he listens to everything that you say. Though, if you’re being entirely honest, he could really do with a shave and a haircut, at the very least.  Your other roommate is quite the strange guy and prefers to keep to himself. You really only see him around when you’re playing like this.

Like children.

For reasons you'll never understand, he also enjoys the same children's show.  He even has a kind of childlike innocence about him, but you have a feeling that his level of infatuation with the ponies isn’t nearly as innocent as it appears.  Sometimes you get roped into watching the show as well, but you can't say you enjoy it. In fact, simply not enjoying it is an understatement. You've written a long post about how backwards the show was on your blog, making sure to note how sexist the characters were and how the male characters were either depicted as stupid, monosyllabic or villains.

Roommates aside, you’ve come to enjoy your classes and some of the _ridiculous_ arguments that your peers make. And now as you sit in what could quite possibly be the most _aggravating_ class of the day, if not the semester, you can’t help but to smirk while the professor just prattles on and on and on about all of this women’s activism bullshit.  You’ve already spoken your piece for the day, and now you’re just sitting and watching the chaos ensue with a sense of satisfaction. The woman who takes the most issue with your views on the world is the one you hate the most. She checks nearly every box on your list of things you can’t stand - she's an immigrant (possibly illegal, but you're not sure), she's a feminist (you have to call her what she is - a feminazi), she's older than everyone else, and she just seems like such a _slut._ She’s in each and every one of your classes and the two of you have bitter arguments in all but one, and that’s mostly due to the fact that the professor doesn’t open the floor for anything other than questions.That hasn’t stopped the two of you from getting into it after class, however. You can honestly say that you've never met anyone quite like her, and to be honest, you're glad. She is the antithesis of everything that you stand for.

That's the thing about college, though. You've met a lot of people who interest you in one way or another.  The vast majority of those on your campus could really do with changing their opinions and viewpoints on many things, but luckily for you, there are still those who agree with you.They’re few and far between, but they’re there.

One of the people that happen to agree with you on so much is actually your terribly unkempt roommate.  His views aren’t as far reaching as yours, but he’s learning. You’ve taken him under your wing, so to speak, and over the last few weeks you’ve decided to help him improve himself.  At the very least you’ve actually managed to get him to shower on a daily basis, though the next step is getting rid of that _disgusting_ beard.

Really, you think that he might be at least moderately attractive, in an entirely objective sense of course, but the beard just ruins it. It’s a disgusting thing, really and goes down his neck.  You make a mental note to complain about this horrible choice of facial hair on your blog.  It’s just such a lazy thing and you really hate to see one of your friends fall victim to it.

So, once your other roommate leaves, you’ll be taking him into the bathroom and making sure that he has the _cleanest_ of shaves.  Maybe while you’re at it you’ll get him to cut off his greasy ponytail… But that’s all hypotheticals for you at this point.  You’re fairly certain that he would need a lot of convincing to get rid of the damn thing, but a man can dream.

For now though you just watch as he plays with the farmer ponies and lets his lilting southern accent just make him seem charming as he speaks.  Which isn’t really fair at all, is it?  Why would someone so classically reprehensible in most every other way be allowed to have such a charming accent?  You mull it over in your head as you let your little yellow pony flit around with your roommates’.  It’s strangely cathartic to play with them.  It almost takes the edge off sometimes.

Though, as the clock strikes three in a sense, the third wheel finally takes his leave.  You look across the table at your roommate who’s _still_ playing with his ponies and you just watch him.  He looks so at peace, and you wonder just why it is that he can do this without a shred of irony or even embarrassment, but it’s almost endearing.

You push that thought to the back of your mind, though, and set your own toy down.  You stand up and clap a hand onto his broad shoulder and announce that it’s time.  He, of course, has absolutely no idea what you mean by that and looks at you strangely. Of course he has _no_ idea what you’re referring to. After all, this has been a covert operation and you had merely needed to wait for the perfect chance.

And now you’ve found it.

So, standing up and stretching, you offer him your hand to help pull him up.  It isn’t like he really needs it, but it is only polite.  He looks up at you with what appears to be a smile under his disgusting beard and he takes your hand.  It’s surprising just how warm and strong his hand is in yours, but you take a deep breath and pull him up.  He stands nearly a head taller than you, but you pay it no mind.  You’re used to it, honestly, but you push it out of your mind.  You let go of his hand and tell him to just wait for you upstairs in the bathroom.

While he moves up the stairs, you wonder what he must be thinking about all of this.  It’s not like you’ve _told_ him of your plan, but it’s something that you know needs to happen.  You follow after him once you’ve got what you’re going to tell him planned and lean against the door to the bathroom.  He’s sitting on the sink, kicking his legs back and forth as well as he can.  You’re honestly not surprised that he would do that, but you tell him to get down and to sit down somewhere else.

He raises his eyebrows over his thick rimmed glasses but he does as he’s asked.  You’re glad that he listens to you.  It’s just so refreshing.  With a huffed sigh you pull the shaving cream and razor that you’d gotten specifically for this.  Honestly you’ve never understood why anyone wouldn’t just wax, it just has to happen to much less and really goes so much faster.

You hear him give a little whimpering whine and you turn your head to look at him.  He has his hands over his face and you just roll your eyes before pulling them away.  You put a bit of shaving cream in your hands and start to rub it over his face.  He pouts at you as you do it, but you disregard it.  It’s high time that he gets rid of his disgusting facial fur.  You wash the shaving cream from your hands and dry them on the nice, red hand towel.

You let the water run as you grab the razor, going back over to him.  You hold it out for him to take, but he shakes his head pitifully.  You just roll your eyes and start the process yourself.  It’s been so long since you’ve actually shaved anything yourself, but you make sure to do as well as you can.  After all, you don’t want him to look like he’d lost a fight with someone when you’re done.  You take care as you work and after a good twenty minutes, you’ve given him what’s probably the closest shave that he’s ever had, if not his first shave altogether.

Cleaning up carefully, you realize that neither of you have had anything for lunch and take the initiative to inform him of this.  Eagerly he nods and the two of you decide that a trip to the dining hall is in order.  Once everything is cleaned up, the two of you leave and, for some reason, you can’t help but to stare at him.  It’s just so _strange_ to see him without that horrible beard.

And yet something about it feels like you may have just made a terrible mistake.

Later that night, in the confines of your own room, you realize exactly what you’ve done.  With his face free of that disgusting not-quite-there beard, your roommate is entirely more attractive than you’d ever imagined, and you hate yourself for it.  His newfound jawline kept catching your eye as you sat in the dining hall, each turn of his head creating new, wonderful angles and it was all you could do to not get hard from looking at him.  Behind that beard, as you suspected, lies a wonderful specimen of man.  It’s entirely normal to want to glide your fingers down his cheekbones, over his lips, to pause at his chin, gently tipping it up so that you can-

Absolutely not.  No, you’re not going to go down this road.

You hate yourself for this.  You hate yourself so much.  And as you lie in your bed with your hand wrapped around your cock, you find yourself hating how good it feels.  It shouldn’t feel this nice.  It really shouldn’t - it’s just so _wrong_ on so many levels, against everything you were taught.  You aren’t supposed to enjoy touching yourself and you certainly aren’t supposed to enjoy touching yourself to the thought of another man. It’s as wrong as anything you can think of, perhaps even more wrong than using two spaces after a period.

Of course, you aren’t picturing _him_ , you tell yourself, it’s a woman with a strong jaw.  Obviously, you’re thinking of a woman with a nice round bottom.  Perhaps she has an ample set of breasts, you can get on board with that.  You slide your hand up and down your shaft, knuckles bumping against hard plastic every few strokes.  The woman in your mind really begins to take shape - she has dusky skin, long hair curling gently at the ends, a wicked smirk and-

_No._

With your right hand, you pull the pillow out from under your head and press it firmly against your face to muffle a frustrated scream.   _She_ is the last person you want to be thinking of right now; you want to think about her less than you want to think about your roommate, and that’s saying something.  You aren’t any less hard, however, and begrudgingly you pick back up where you left off, trying desperately not to think of anything in particular, to just _feel._ You fail to stop imagining people you know and instead give into it, picturing what your best friend might look like once you’re done with him.  It’s a wonderful image that you’ve cobbled together over the last year and you’ll be damned if you don’t make this fantasy into a reality.  You’ve already taken the first step and it went so smoothly. He could be _so_ much better, he _will_ be so much better, a real man. Your cock jumps at the thought and your eyelids flutter shut. It’s so much easier to imagine things when you’re not staring at the ceiling.

Five minutes later you’re gasping and thrusting up into your hand, anger, lust and resentment coiling low in the pit of your stomach.  You are so agonizingly close, you know that swiping your thumb across the head of your cock would set you off  right now.  It’s entirely tempting but you resist, as you should, instead dipping your left hand lower to tug gently on the tiny ring tucked just under your scrotum.  Your breath catches in your throat and you’re so close, so close when you hear it.

It’s just a lilting intro on the ukulele at first and you bite your lip and attempt to ignore it, but then you hear a deep baritone voice cutting through the air, describing how to wrap up winter.  The fucking _earth pony way._ You can’t do this, and with another scream of frustration into the pillow still held firmly against your face, you let go of your cock.  In a fit of rage you throw the pillow across the room, not caring when it knocks over the potted plant on your bookshelf.  You tuck yourself back into your boxers and grit your teeth, slamming your hand against the wall a few moments later and snap, “Cronus, Horuss, for the love of fuck, _shut up_!”


	2. Chapter 2

Your name is Cronus Ampora and it is cold as fuck.

Okay, maybe it’s not _that_ cold, but for fuck’s sake this New England weather is _not_ like the weather in Southern Georgia. You’re so used to just wearing t-shirts and maybe a light jacket with some baggy shorts year round, but this? Fuck this.  You might have wanted to come to school up here, but _no one_ prepared you for the fact that it was like fifteen degrees colder up here on average.  And that the high during the day was the goddamn night temperature back home.

But at least last year you’d had your beard.  Now that your roommate’s shaved off your beloved facial fur you have nothing protecting your face from the wind. In most cases that wouldn’t be so bad.  The area hasn’t really proven to be too windy last year, but this year? It’s like a little vortex of terrible.

It half makes you wish that you could yell at some pony for this terrible, horrible weather. Why did it have to be so different than in Georgia? Or rather, why the fuck did you go back to Georgia for the summer?  You shake your head with a sigh as you _finally_ reach the Center for the Arts.  It has the AC running, which kind of makes you laugh, but at the very least it’s better than being outside.  For fuck’s sake it feels like _winter_ out there to you and you’d rather at least be in the familiar chill of air conditioning instead.

You walk through the hallways to the class studio and groan when you realize that you’re about to be late.  You remove your shoes, lining them up carefully against the wall, dropping your bag to the ground. You rifle through it in a desperate attempt to find your slippers and when you finally do, you slip them on, hopping through the door on one foot while pulling the heel of your right shoe on, bouncing in place for a few seconds as you attempt to straighten out the sockliner. Once it’s on correctly, you plié respectfully to the professor and take your place at the barre.

You really hate your place at the barre.  Unfortunately for you, you’re behind a girl who’s not very good and in front of the best in the class.  She’s been antagonizing you for a few weeks now and you’re still not entirely sure what you did in the first place.  Nevertheless, her constant muttering about what you’re doing wrong has only served to force you to make improvements and to become a better dancer.  Sometimes you think you catch her looking proud out of the corner of your eye during floorwork, but as soon as you meet her eyes, she casts a dour expression in your direction.

She’s a very petite woman, there’s no way that she’s taller than five foot one. She wears a shock of red eyeshadow on her eyelids and an equally bold shade on her lips.  It suits her, you think.  She’s got glossy black hair that reaches halfway down her back and she’s able to pull it into the most exquisite buns in record time. It’s fascinating to watch, really.  You’ve tried to mimic what she does but you just can’t seem to get it right. When she first started speaking to you at the end of September, you had a bit of trouble understanding her accent, but after hearing her talk on a regular basis, you’ve been able to parse her words.

As things are, you place your fingertips on the wood and arrange your body, feet turned out nicely.  One of the first things she’d said to you was how you were turning out incorrectly - from the knees and feet instead of mainly from the hips.  Once you’d figured out how to do it properly, an entire world had opened up.  You’d rapidly improved, realizing how much of ballet was simply holding your body correctly.  With each class, she points out something new and you do your best to correct yourself accordingly.  Today, though, she doesn’t quite seem to be interested in correcting your technique.

“You never fucking wear the proper clothes to class, you piece of shit,” she hisses through her teeth behind you, and you immediately straighten up into proper form.  “How you get away with it, I’ll never know, but it’s absolute horseshit.  Then again, how you got into _this class_ I will also never know, but believe me, I’ll do my best to make sure you don't take another one.”

“It was the only class that was open,” you whisper back, concentrating on bringing your heel through a rond de jambe en dehors.  You’re fairly sure that she rolls her eyes in response, though you’ll never know.

“I figured.  Tuck in your pelvis, you look like a little bitch.” And so you do, and she doesn’t talk to you again until after class.  She’s pulling on a pair of baggy sweatpants when you join her, taking off your soft shoes and shoving them back into your bag.  You watch as she neatly tucks hers away into a pocket, straightening back up and turning to you.

“Either you start wearing your disgusting, unkempt mass of what can barely pass for hair in a proper bun or I’m going to cut it off of your head myself.” She’s entirely serious, eyes narrowed and chin tilted upwards, defiantly.  You hold her stare for as long as you can before backing down.  She’s incredibly intimidating and quite frankly, she scares you.  It briefly crosses your mind that you don’t even know her name, you’ve never heard it mentioned.  You’ve figured out that half of her name is Megido, however, because your professor exclusively refers to her students by their last name.

“I can’t get it in a bun,” you tell her.  It’s true.  You’ve tried but it just falls out of place and you can’t keep it up.  “It won’t stay together.” She rolls her eyes at you.

“It’s called hairspray and bun pins, nerd.  Don’t you even know anything? You’re pathetic.  Come to lunch with me.” You’re not really sure that you should be going off with her by yourself, but she hasn’t done anything to hurt you thus far.

So the two of you head towards a dining hall that you haven’t been to yet.  You find out quickly that it’s the vegetarian one, and have a rather disappointing lunch.  As it turns out, you learn nothing about the Megido girl.  You ask her a few basic questions - what her name is, where she’s from, what year she’s in. She manages to sidestep each and every one, either feigning that she doesn’t understand or simply staring at you until you change the subject.

She’s very odd, but you figure that if she wants to help you, and it really seems that she does, you can look past how unsettling she is.  Once the both of you finish your lunches, you say goodbye and she mentions that she was looking forward to the next class.  You’re a little confused but you return the sentiment, eventually wandering back to your dorm and taking a shower.

You shave off the stubble on your face, put on a pair of pleated polyester khaki pants, place the coordinating fedora on your head and go to class.  It’s a composition class, one of your favorites so far.  You really enjoy writing music and you’ve just finished writing your newest song, _Aqua Sex Renegade_.  Kankri had sighed deeply when you showed it to him, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary.  He doesn’t really understand your creations, and that’s okay.  He’ll come to appreciate them at some point. All too soon, class is over.

You aren’t surprised when you get home and it’s Horuss’s turn to pick a movie.  The three of you have made it a point to have a movie night of some sort at least once a week.  Kankri wrote up a little schedule for it and everything. What a nerd.  But then you really aren’t one to talk about being a nerd. He at least seems to have more friends that you. You’ve just got him, and Horuss now, too, you suppose.

Though Horuss really is a strange kind of guy.  He’s your fellow Brony, but… you’ve never really been into the darker side of your fandom. It actually kind of makes you feel _really_ fucking weird.  So when you seem him smiling ear to ear about the movie he’s picked, you can’t help but to be a little worried.  He holds in his massive hand a burnt DVD that you are hoping isn’t some pony porn.  He moves over to the couch and sits down carefully, his back straight as a fighter pilot’s.

"I have found an _exquisite_ movie for tonight!” Oh god it’s going to be pony porn, you just know it.  He’s got animated pony porn on that DVD.  “It is a story of love!” Definitely pony porn oh god.  “And STRENGTH!” You’re about to stop him right there because you _know_ what it’s going to be. He looks at Kankri and you’re about to stop him, but then he speaks again.  “And, dear Kankri, it has nothing to do with ponies for a change of pace.  Just for you!" Oh thank god. That means that you at least won’t have to pick a different movie like you have to every other time this asshole has had his pick. Fortunately you can usually spot when it’s not something like a leaked episode.

Usually.  You don’t really like to think about the one time that you _didn’t_ , though.

With a deep sigh of relief, you pull off your trench coat to hang it up along with your backpack.  “Okay, that’s cool shit, chief.  You mind if I go change quick?”

Kankri gives you a look.  You know it well, but you don’t care.  He’s been on you lately about “changing your appearance to be a better example of our sex” and you really don’t understand why at all.  But you’d _let_ him shave your beard, so you suppose that you can follow a few of his tips.  One of those has been wearing real pants in public instead of sweats, but at home? Fuck that noise.

You move quickly upstairs and hole yourself away in your room.  It doesn’t take you long to change out of your jeans and into your favorite pair of sweats and you go downstairs just to plop down onto the couch next to Horuss while Kankri fusses with _something_ in your kitchenette.  When he comes back, a bowl of popcorn in hand, he sits next to you.  He always sits next to you, and it’s kind of nice.  You’ve never had a friend like that before.

You chomp idly on some popcorn while Horuss puts in the movie.  It seems to start out innocently enough, which is a change for his nights. Though you do seem to notice some strange changes.  The two men seem… Awfully close and...

Oh _fuck_ no.

It’s not pony porn, it’s gay porn.  Horuss the-literal-giant-gay-bottom Zahhak has put gay porn on for your movie night.  Fantastic.  Honestly you had a sneaking suspicion that he’d do this at some point, but you didn’t think that it would be so soon into the school year.  The big lug.  You sigh and shift a little in your seat. You’ve never really _told_ anyone about your sexuality, but it’s not like you’ve really avoided it either.

You swallow, shifting back a little in your seat as you try not to think about the fact that there are a couple of incredibly hot guys on screen and they’re… Oh fuck.  Their shirts and pants end up on the floor as they make out and you throw a little glare at Horuss.  The douche pony is just watching with that unsettling grin on face. Really this shouldn’t even be a surprise. You don’t know why, but this guy always picks porn.  Usually it’s pony porn, but god fucking dammit today it had to be _real_ people.  At least it isn’t real horses.  That would be just a little weird.  Even for him.

And then he’ll excuse himself when it gets to the bits that he apparently thinks are hot as fuck.  You can sense the tension in everyone on the couch, though.  Mostly the tension in your own pants, though.  Fuck, you’re already half hard.

You sigh, hoping that no one notices that you’re at half mast.  Then again as you glance at Horuss you’re left feeling even more inadequate than you did through high school, but he soon leaves and you’re left with Kankri.  Alone.  With Kankri.

And you’re watching gay porn, of all things.  You could _easily_ decide to just turn this shit off, to just leave the room.   _Both_ of you could do that, though.  Instead he’s just prattling on about how the sizes of the dicks in the movie aren’t really in line with the average man and how it sets unfair standards.  Looking up you see that they’re, well, about your length probably. At least when you’re actually hard because, let’s be honest, you are not that impressive when you’re not. Though you have to admit that it’s kind of nice to be alone with him like this. Even if it _does_ make you just a little harder.

Did you just think that? You lean back against the couch, hand over your face and sigh a little, but that’s when you realize that Kankri’s stopped talking.

Turning your head to look at him you see that he’s staring at you.  Fucking _staring_ at you and… You are totally fine with that.  A playful grin spreads over your face before you finally say anything.  “So, uh,” you gesture at the apparent bulge in his own pants, “you need to take care of that?”

His face goes from feigned disinterest to a deeply flushed rage.  “ _Excuse_ me?” His tone makes you think about backtracking, but no.  You’re too big of a masochistic idiot to stop now.

“I said do you need to take care of that?” You gesture again and make a suggestive motion with your hand.  “Or do you want me to get it for you?” You laugh like it’s a joke, but you know that it isn’t.  You are legitimately offering to give your best friend a hand job because _damn_ do you want to see him come undone.

“Take _care_ of it? Cronus, I’m not sure I like what you’re suggesting.” He looks away from you for a second, like he’s trying to look at anything _but_ you.

“Nah, man it’s cool.  I mean… I know me and Horuss kinda fucked with your you-time yesterday so it’s fair, right? Don’t want my best bud to get blue-balls.” You laugh nervously and shift, knowing that your own erection is showing horribly through your sweats.

“How did you…?” He almost looks guilty, brows furrowed slightly.

“Bro, you are loud as fuck and these walls are thin, how could I _not_?” Your face flushes and you just bite your lip.  This could really drive a wedge between the two of you if he decides to just leave.  How could he ever look at you the same way after asking if he…

“Fine, I suppose.  Though… You may need to persuade me.”

Your head snaps up and you just give him a devilish grin.  He wants to be persuaded? Well, you’d like to think that you’re pretty persuasive.  With a deep breath you reach over and clumsily start to undo his jeans, hands shaking.  You glance up and he’s looking down at you expectantly, though you’re determined to do this.  You’re making this happen.  For a moment you think about just taking him into your mouth and just fucking sucking him off.

But that’s a bit out of line for a friend isn’t it?

Instead you rub him through his boxers, feeling how hard he already is and wondering exactly what his cock must look like.  He sucks in a breath, pressing against your hand.  With another deep breath, you make up your mind and decide to just fucking _do it_ already.  Trepidatiously, you reach your hand into the front slit of his boxers so that you can actually wrap your hand around him.  He’s smaller than you, you can feel that much, but you haven’t actually looked yet.

Instead you keep your eyes locked on him, not daring to look down. You watch his Adam’s apple bob but he doesn’t break eye contact with you.  He looks like he’s about to say something but then closes his mouth and nods slightly.

You’ll take it.

With a small grin, you start to stroke him slowly, though suddenly your fingers catch on a pair of small metal balls as your thumb runs across his head.  Glancing down, your jaw drops a little and you just _stare_.  Not only does he have the top of his glans pierced, he also has what you think might be a Prince Albert.  You’re not entirely sure; you’ve only come across it once in porn.“Uh, Kan… Are these…?”

And that’s when he smacks the side of your head lightly, face flushed bright red.  “I would _appreciate_ it if you did _not_ judge my piercings.  They are from a different time in my life and I keep them as a reminder of who I was and who I’ve become.”

You look back up at him and just nod.  “Fair enough.” You chew at your lip before you look back down and get back to your clumsy ministrations.  Though you really can’t believe that Kankri ‘The Saint’ Vantas has his cock pierced, multiple times.  And you find it undeniably hot, although it does make you wonder what else you don’t know about him.  You let go of his cock and tug on his boxers.  Being compliant for what may be the first time in his life, he lifts his hips off of the couch and _oh_.

The two on his dick aren’t the only ones he has.  Right above each hipbone lies a pair of the same little metal balls.  You gape for a moment before glancing down and _holy shit_.  You’ve misjudged him.  You’ve misjudged him entirely - there are _more_.  A pair of rings adorn the front of his scrotum, neatly placed so that the first overlaps the second.

You can’t help it, you stare.  This is too much to take in; isn’t he a preacher’s son? This is _Kankri_ , the guy who sings hymns when he thinks nobody’s around to hear him.  This is the kid who goes to church every Sunday without fail, taking two buses just to get to the place of worship he prefers.  He’s the person who immediately branded your neighbor as a ‘worthless member of society’ for having her eyebrow and tongue pierced.

_He’s a little hypocrite._

In the time that you take to stare at him, he becomes annoyed and pushes you away.  “For fuck’s sake, Cronus, it’s impolite to stare.  Didn’t anybody teach you that?” He stands up and pulls his boxers back up, shimmying into his pants again.  “Don’t bring this up again, it was a mistake and it never happened.  It was entirely a lapse of judgment; I’m not gay.”

You watch dismally as he walks away from you and you hear a door slam upstairs.  With a groan, you fall face first onto the couch realizing that yes, you probably _did_ just fuck up your friendship with him, but you’re making it a plan to never fucking bring that up again.  Though first you’ve got to take care of the fact that there’s still some undeniably hot gay porn on your television and you have a massive boner.

Rolling off the couch, you make your way up to your room and decide to do the only thing any sane boy your age would do after trying to give a handjob to his best friend and failing, or at least the only sane thing that _you_ would do.  You close your door quietly behind you and, for just a moment, you listen to make sure that Kankri leaves his room or at least can’t hear you.  You set your iPod up to blare some music and, for the next ten minutes, you desperately masturbate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm fuckin zonked guys ~ned  
> \---  
> hahaha shit what's even fuckin going on it's 6 am what oh god - Issiekay/Sunny


	3. Chapter 3

After your little encounter with Cronus, you sit in your room with your head in your hands for a few minutes. Though when you hear Cronus playing his music and _loudly_ , you decide to move into the bathroom and fit your preferred means of keeping relatively chaste back onto your glans. This would have never happened if you hadn’t had to _clean_ it, so you make a mental note to do it while you’re home alone next time. Always better to be safe than sorry.

With everything in place you go to bed and try to forget about the unfortunate event. It never happened. You never let it happen and Cronus never suggested it.

For the next two days, you don’t speak a single word to Cronus. He tries striking up conversation after conversation, but you don’t let yourself play into his game. You leave the room immediately every time he enters the one you’re in and you’re not really planning on stopping any time soon. You even take to staying in your room if he follows you around and just locking the door, something that you at least assume should keep him out.

Any time you’re left to your own devices, though, you can’t help but to think about it. How _dare_ he gawk at you like that? It’s one thing to do what he tried to do - and really, you don’t have any idea why you even accepted his offer in the first place - but another entirely to just _stare_. You understand that he may have been caught off guard, but that’s no excuse. To be honest, though, you’re very glad that he hesitated because it allowed you to gather your bearings and remove yourself from the situation.

Unfortunately, you drop your guard as you try to prepare yourself a nice breakfast and find yourself caught in a situation that you can’t avoid. As you whip your eggs to be scrambled, you hear someone whistling from the living area. You don’t look up, hoping that it’s just one of your roommates going to class. But then you can hear footsteps on the tiles and the whistling stops as you’re dumping your eggs into the pan.

“Hey chief.” Shit. Shit shit _shit_ it just had to be Cronus, didn’t it? You don’t respond, though. You’re not going to. You’re just going to stand here cooking your breakfast until he leaves. “Is it okay if we talk?” You see him lean against the counter from the corner of your eye and you don’t bother to grace him with a response. “Guess, uh, I can just talk and you can listen… Or I mean I guess you could kick me and tell me to go away, but I’m hoping that you don’t.”

You still refuse to answer him. There’s really no _reason_ for you to do so and you don’t want him to have the satisfaction. It doesn’t seem to deter him, though. “Okay, so like… That happened Tuesday, man… And I mean, like. I guess I was just surprised at all your metal is all.”

You turn your head to look at him, eyebrow quirked. “Because that is most certainly how one refers to piercings.” You frown a little but he just laughs, nodding his head.

“Uh, yeah I guess that is kinda dumb. But still, man, it was like _not_ what I expected from you at all. I mean… Why all the extra holes?” He crosses his arms over his chest and you practically growl, putting your eggs on a back burner. Looks like you’re going to be wasting food to talk to him today.

“I already told you.and I have no desire to extrapolate further.” You turn off the front burner and turn to look at him, mirroring his posture. “Now I want you to go. I really don’t want to talk about this.”

He frowns, turning his face into a bitter mockery of what it usually is. “Babe we gotta talk about what happened. I mean, like, I was gonna give you a hand job and we kinda fucked that up.”

“You talked me into it. You didn’t even do your best to convince me. You just touched me without my permission. Last I checked I could file a complaint to residence life and have you removed from the room. So why are you still talking to me about this?” You brush a copper strand of hair from your face and turn back to your eggs.

“I’m talking to you because you’re my best friend, and I don’t want you to think that I was just doing something weird!” He slams his hand on the counter next to you while you try to cook again. He’s just _so_ close to you and it’s almost making you nervous. “Seriously, babe, you’re my best friend. Are we cool?”

You huff as you poke and stir at the already ruined eggs. “We most certainly are “ _not_ ” cool if you continue to bring _that_ up. So if you would kindly stop and just get one with your day then !”

“I’m not just going to drop this!” He grabs the sleeve of your sweater and you tense as he does. “This is something that we need to talk about, chief, even if you think it might be something kinda… I dunno. Something kinda weird. Like I mean…” He sighs but you do your best not to look at him. Why would you even deign to respond? “I don’t wanna fuck this up, you know?”

You tilt your head back with a heavy sigh of your own, closing your eyes. “Cronus. There’s nothing to fuck up. You’re my friend. End of story. Now let. Me. _Go_.” A deep frown crosses your face and you try to pull from his grip.

But he refuses to let go. “No, you’re already fucking avoiding me, babe, and I...”

“ _Stop_ calling me babe. It’s a terrible nickname meant for women. And as I’m sure you’re aware I am _not_ a woman. In fact I am the pinnacle of what a man should be. So if you would _kindly_ leave me be I would appreciate it.” You try to stir at your eggs, hoping that they’ll still scramble, though the task is starting to feel futile.

“Fine, I’ll stop calling you _babe_ but this isn’t about that. It’s isn’t about that at _all_ and you know that!”

You shake your head and look at him, feeling the rage between both of you grow. “I’ll have you know that this conversation is _over_ and I don’t care what else you have to say!” He pushes you. _Actually_ pushes you. No one pushes you. You refuse to let anyone push you around and, seeing your spatula fall to the ground, you let out a shriek, you shove him right back. “How _dare_ you push me!” You yell more loudly at him than you have at anyone other than _her_ in a very long time. “You have _no_ right!”

He stares you down. It doesn’t take much for him to do that, after all he _does_ have a few inches on you, but you are much more resolute in confrontations. “You don’t fucking care what I have to say, is that it?” He moves closer to you and you’re almost sure that he’s going to shove you again. “Well you sure seemed to care when what I said what that I was going to jerk you off. Is that what it boils down to? That you only care when _you_ get something out of it? Because that sounds like fucking bullshit to me!” He’s yelling in your face and you can’t seem to make him stop.

“You’re a child, Cronus! Grow up!” You push him back again and he hits the counter. With long strides you move in close and point an angry finger at his face. “You took advantage of ny body’s natural reactions. _You_ decided that you should _help me out_ and you are the one that fucking stared!” You stand on tip toe, trying to look him in the eye. “Do I make myself _perfectly_ clear?” You make sure to drop the volume of your voice. You never like to yell in people’s faces when they’re this close. Instead you move into a calmer attitude. It’s more inflammatory to those who can’t control their tempers.

You honestly should thank your little brother for teaching you that much. He’s always been so easy to rile up and talking softly to him always makes it worse.

Cronus swallows and just stares down at you. “You’re the one that was staring at me. I figured that you wanted something.”

You panic as you realize that he’s not really lying about that. You _had_ been staring at him, but that wasn’t the point of this argument. He’d abused your trust and talked you into that _homosexual_ activity. “You’re my friend. You hadn’t really said anything while I was talking. That’s all.”

He narrows his eyes, lips pursing in aggravation. “Baaaa-ro,” you note that he corrects his attempted “babe” to “bro” which counts for _something_ , you suppose, “I never fucking talk while you’re on one of your little tirades. Why be worried about last night?” He rests his hands behind him on the counter and you half want to press him against it and make him _really_ feel what he’d wanted last night. He obviously wanted to feel you last night. Why not give him the fucking privilege?

No. You can’t think that way, it’s toxic and disgusting. Instead you rest your hands on his shoulders for just a second and you can _feel_ the tension there. Quickly pulling your hands away, you turn on your heel and walk back to the stove. “I don’t want to talk about this again, Cronus. Just drop it.” He look back at him over your shoulder. “Let’s just go get some food. You ruined my eggs.” You pick up your spatula and toss it in the sink before grabbing your ruined eggs and dumping them down the garbage disposal.

You hear him walking towards you. “What if I don’t want to, huh?” His chin rests on your shoulder as you hunch over the sink doing this horrible _woman’s_ work. “What if I want to stay here and talk about this?”

He sounds upset, no. Not upset. He sounds _melancholy_ and that has you wondering what’s wrong with him. “If you want to stay here and talk to yourself about this then feel free. I need to get something to eat and then get to my numerous classes.” You clean your pan quickly and set it in the drying rack before gently pushing him away from you. “It’s up to you if you come with.”

You leave the kitchen without another word and, as you get ready, you watch out of the corner of the corner of your eyes. He’s lacing his boots and you smile a little to yourself. Looks like you’ll have company for breakfast. Without another word between the two of you, all of your things are gathered and you both go to the dining hall.

Something seems to soften between the two of you and you’re back to talking like you used to. Maybe he’s actually dropped this. Maybe he’s not going to bring it up again. Maybe he’ll just let you feel like a normal man again instead of… _whatever_ it was you had started to feel like two nights ago.

After finishing breakfast the two of you walk in the same general direction until he has to go his own way to get to the Center for the Arts and you’re left walking on your own. It’s a comfortably warm day and you can’t help but to just hum to yourself as you walk down the path to your first class. After it, you have lunch before your next two.

The majority of your gender studies classes are at another college this semester. Every Tuesday and Thursday you take a bus to get there. Because the second one ends a little late, around four thirty, you head to their library to get some homework done and then you stick around on campus to eat dinner. You’d quickly figured out which dining hall you preferred. You like this particular one; it’s right near the bus stop and it’s often underpopulated. You’re able to be mostly alone and nobody bothers you. You’re aware that the few students who _do_ eat here give you strange looks, but you’ve learned to ignore them. They seem to be offended by your presence, a _man’s_ presence, but they simply have to learn to deal with reality.

They can squirrel themselves away at an all women’s college, but they will never be able to do what they would like - to eliminate any and all men from their environment. It’s actually why you make a point of staying on their campus to eat dinner. It isn’t covered in the five-college exchange meal plan, only lunch is. While you loathe to shell out eleven dollars to a _women’s college_ twice a week, you really do feel that you’re doing the students a favor by being there.

You’re midway through your meal when _she_ waltzes in. You narrow your eyes and look away, hoping she won’t notice you. Unfortunately, you chose to wear your favorite red turtleneck today and before you can get up to clear your plate and leave, she sits down across from you.

You watch warily as she crosses her arms and rests them on the table. “So,” she says, and you look up, meeting her eyes, “I’m glad I caught you. I’ve got something to tell you.” Great. Exactly what you needed right now.

You shake your head and tongue at your cheek for a moment. “I’m not in the mood for this,” you answer, standing up.

She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms as a most unladylike scowl crosses her features. “Sit down or I’ll follow you back to your campus, I will. You always leave before I can catch you and I’m sick of it. What, you can’t face the music? Are you scared that I might make you think about the terrible things you say?” She has an eyebrow raised and a nasty smirk. Begrudgingly, you sit down. You don’t doubt that she’ll follow you in the slightest; she has a very predatory aura to her. She doesn’t behave like a woman should at all, and while you might forgive someone younger, she’s absolutely older than twenty five. She should know better.

You heave a sigh and sit in the most authoritative way that you can, just to show that you’re in control here. “Fine. What useless drivel do you have to lecture me about? Are you going to try to educate me about one of your silly pet projects again?” The smirk falls right from her face, and in turn, you smirk. “I’m not uneducated on the matter, you know. I’ve done a lot of research and quite honestly, you’re the one on the wrong side of history, not I.”

She shakes her head, jaw dropped just a little and you can see the irritation growing in her which _definately_ feels like a victory. “Would you shut up for once? I swear, you just like hearing yourself talk.”

“Why don’t _you_ shut up?” You gesture with a wave of your hand before pointing to her. “And why are you here? Are you stalking me, Porrim? I’ll have you know that I know my rights and I can absolutely alert campus police about your behavior.” It doesn’t get the reaction you were looking for, all she does is sigh deeply.

She pushes her hair back and then lets it fall back into place. “I’m not here to fight with you, Kankri. Arguing about things that we’ve already argued about isn’t going to get us anywhere, is it? Calm down. I just wanted to talk. About normal conversational topics. Come on, we’ve known each other for a little more than a year. Can you do that, can you just talk to me, human to human?”

You give a dramatic eye roll and huff. “Don’t patronize me, of course I can. My question, however, is why I should even entertain you when all you’re going to do is somehow use whatever I say against me next Tuesday.”

She quirks a pierced eyebrow like she’s trying to tell you that the answer is obvious. “Because I need to prove to myself that you’re actually a human being after all and not just a massive amount of hatred and disgust wrapped up in a fuzzy sweater.”

You scoff at her and shake your head as you attempt not to pout like a child. “I am a _man_ , treat me like one.”

“I’ll treat you like a man once you prove it,” she shoots back without a moment of hesitation, her smirk still in place. “Stop hiding behind your privilege as a straight white male and prove it. Where are you from?”

This time, you do hesitate before answering, chewing lightly at your cheek. “I’m local. And you?”

“I’m local as well.” Her answer is almost immediate and she actually offers you a smile that isn’t entirely infuriating.

But that doesn’t change one simple fact that you’ve noticed. “No you’re not, you have an accent.” Porrim sighs again and you take satisfaction in the way that she looks annoyed. You’ve never felt such contempt towards anybody in your life before. Nobody else has been able to get you worked up in such a short amount of time, but you’re going to be the bigger person here, like always. Of course, that doesn’t mean that you’re going to stand to be lied to.

“I’m originally from Pakistan. I grew up in Karachi.” You open your mouth to speak, but she cuts you off before you can get a word in. “I know what you’re about to say, no, I’m not from one of the radical areas. It’s the most populous city and to be frank, the culture isn’t very different from here. We didn’t get to school on camelback.”

You squint a little as you try to piece together why she even felt the need for her lattermost statement. “I wasn’t going to say that,” you tell her, leaning back in your chair. “And again, don’t talk down to me. Of course I know where Karachi is, I’m not stupid. When did you move here?”

She twirls a long strand of hair between her fingers as she speaks, letting it fall in an inky curtain as it will. “I moved here when I was fifteen, almost sixteen. I’ve lived in the area since, so as I said, I’m local.” While you don’t exactly think that counts as local, you honestly don’t feel up to getting in another fight today. You’re emotionally exhausted from this morning’s spat with Cronus. Even though you despise her, you’re desperate for some normal conversation.

With a heaved sigh you rub at your eyes before speaking again. “Fair enough. How old are you now?”

“Twenty eight, and you?”

“I’m twenty.” She nods and remains silent, contemplating something. You don’t know what she’s thinking and it worries you. “What?”

She gives you an almost mocking grin and shrugs a tattooed shoulder. “I was going to invite you to a campus party, but you’re not old enough to drink and I’m not going to risk expulsion for providing alcohol to a minor.” You can’t help it, you scoff.

“What, you think I don’t drink? That I don’t have access to alcohol on my own? That’s a little insulting. Frankly, you’re wrong.”

She laughs again and shakes her head, and you’re starting to become horrified. You’re starting to see her as another human instead of just the slut that’s been spewing hate at you for the last year. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I’m sure you do drink, I don’t doubt it. If I were you, I’d also have to drink to numb the pain of having such terrible ideals and thoughts.”

You scoff again. “I thought you wanted to have a _normal_ conversation. If you’re not going to respect me, I won’t bother _attempting_ to respect you.”

She sighs again and holds her hands up in a defensive gesture. “I’ll get to the point then. Meet me here at eleven on Saturday. We’ll go have some fun and you can keep trying to prove yourself to not be such a total douchebag. Deal?”

Against your better judgement, you find yourself nodding. You like parties; they help you escape from the mess that your life’s quickly becoming. You know you shouldn’t, but you’re only human. “Deal.” You get up to clear your dishes.

“Oh, and Kankri?”

What else could she possibly have to say? “Yes?”

“Try to wear something other than a sweater for once. Please.” She reaches over the table, ruffles your hair, and turns on her heel, leaving you speechless and unable to get the last word.

You hate not getting the last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omfg its not 6am. tho i wonder if yall can tell our writing apart :"O ~NED
> 
> Fuck you for stealing exactly what I was going to say, and for the record, it was 6 AM for me and 5 AM for you, so there. And spoiler alert - it's pretty clean-cut this time on who wrote what, instead of a hot mess of fresh fuck that we both contributed to. Enjoy! ~Issiekay/Sunny
> 
> p.s. I'm sure NED would be overjoyed if anyone _actually_ sent her an ask with where you think the break is. Do it. Do it for her. Do it for _me_.


End file.
